𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

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"THAT BREAD HAD MOLD ON IT THREE DAYS AGO

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"THAT BREAD HAD MOLD ON IT THREE DAYS AGO." Pope stared at the Maybank boy who was making some sort of sandwich with the very old bread in disgust. 

"I'll just pull off the bad parts," JJ responded with a shrug. "Plus, mold is good for you. It's just a natural organism."

Bree furrowed her eyebrows at him. "I don't think it works like that."

"Guys!" Kie called from the living room, illuminated by a candle, and beckoned the two to come over to them. John B was sat at a table with the package from the grave in his hands.

The Maybank and the Callaway rushed into the room as the blonde said, "Yup, yup, yup! Hot damn. Let's do it." As the Routledge began to open it, JJ gagged on the sandwich and spit it out.

"Oh, that's disgusting," Bree told him, backing away like he was going to spit it out on her.

John B ignored them and took what seemed to be a map out of the plastic and laid it flat on the table. They all examined it, and there were lines everywhere. What caught their interest was the coordinates written off the coast of the Outer Banks. "Holy shit."

"Oh, X marks the spot," Pope realized, pointing down at a small x that was drawn on the paper.

"Longitude, latitude," the brunette boy said, gesturing to the lines on the map. Then, he grabbed the package. "Wait, there's something else in there."

He pulled out a black object, and JJ questioned, "What's that?"

"It's a tape recorder, dumbass," Kie told him while the Callaway girl beside him just rolled her eyes.

John B pressed a button on the recorder, and a recording began to play. Big John's voice came through the small object. "Dear Bird."

"Who's bird?" quizzed the blonde boy, and Bree had the urge to smack him on the back of the head so that he would stop interrupting the moment.

The Routledge boy sighed, "That's what my dad called me." Then, he started the recording again.

"I hate to say, 'I told you so,' but I told you so. And you doubted your old man. I suspect at this moment, you're filled with guilt and self-loathing over our last fight, but don't kill yourself just yet, kid. I didn't expect to find the Merchant either. You were probably right to call me out. Wasn't exactly Father of the Decade. What can I say, kid? I could smell the barn. 

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 || 𝐣. 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤Where stories live. Discover now